


Vesuvius

by discoveringrosie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Indie Music, Journalist Arthur, M/M, Music, POV Arthur, POV Merlin, Protective Arthur, famous merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 01:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discoveringrosie/pseuds/discoveringrosie
Summary: Merlin is a famous musician with a drug scandal and a manipulative manager. Arther is the CEO of a news company with his own drama. They find each other. You know the rest.





	Vesuvius

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is a work in progress that I'm reposting after I abandoned it a few years ago. Its unbetaed but if you're interested in Beta-ing please let me know. I really want to keep going with this. Let me know what you think.

The world looks blurry when he opens his eyes. The sheets are tousled and soaked in sweat but he feels as though he was never asleep.  
“Get up,” they tell him. He does. The desk by the window, his window, in his apartment, looks like an old friend. The surface is empty but pen marks carved into the wooden surface melt together and shift like the smoke of time. The chair which accompanies it is expensive leather. He doesn’t care. He just feels the cold burst of air it releases when he sits down.The sky outside the window looks like a chalkboard. He finds himself, hands scrambling across the desk, trying to find a piece of chalk with which to write lists among the clouds. What do you have to write now anyways? A voice that sounds like his mother’s rings in his head. No one answers.  
They put a black mug in front of him and a thin piece of paper. He picks up the mug. It feels heavy and the dark liquid looks to be of a similar consistency to tar. The rim feels like fire against his lips but the steaming liquid tumbles down his throat smoothly. It's not until it starts to settle warmly in his gut does he remember he has missed it. He wraps a trembling hand around the mug.  
Neatly dressed shapes cluster around the desk and slowly come into focus. Bright eyes peer at him from behind stony faces. He recognises the electricity of caffeine and voices begin to pour into his mind as if on a breeze. He jumps when a hand bearing painted pink claws appears centimeters from his face and snaps its sharp fingers in quick succession.  
“Merlin?” She sounds concerned but he can see the hardness in her eyes, he hears the clipped tone of her voice. It takes a few moments of dumbfounded blinking to remember her name.  
“Morning Nim,” he murmurs through cement lips. Her blue eyes roll around in their sockets and he feels dizzy for a moment. Without responding she flails her other arm behind her and a figure in black hands her a bottle. She efficiently pulls the top off and shakes several pills into her hand. They look like eyes, the way they glare at him and point. One by one, with two fingers, he pops them into his mouth and dry swallows. He feels as though his tongue has been inflated to fill his mouth. He takes a swig of tar and clears his throat. Nimueh waits tapping her foot on the dark wood floor.  
“Do you remember what happened last night Merlin?” she asks sharply. She must see last night’s blank slate in his eyes because she goes on, not waiting for an answer.  
“The show, Merlin. Your show” He moves his shoulder up slightly and her lips thin into a red line, trembling slightly with exasperation and stubborn rage. He can tell she is fighting the impulse to check the delicate rolex on her wrist.  
“Do you remember what happened, why we had to cut the show Merlin?” He may be...fuzzy but he still knows when Nimueh is treating him like a ten year old. He shrugs again, annoyed. She sighs as though he is missing something painfully obvious.  
Waving her hand again behind her, another attendee appears, this time with a silver laptop. She shoves it into his lap and hits the spacebar with a snap that pounds behind his eyes. The camerawork is shaky. He recognizes a video taken with a cell phone. In spite of the poor sound quality and general graininess anyone could tell the man on the screen was him. His tour outfit has been plastered all over the billboards of Britain for months. ‘Emrys: Golden tour!! Book Tickets Now’  
Merlin’s attention focusses back on the screen as the crowd roars his name, tinny and far away. The bright lights of the stage behind him make his face look dark, almost gaunt. The person with the camera phone is close enough to see the red splotches on his cheeks and the glazed over quality of his eyes. He watches himself hold a microphone to his lips and the laptop emits the warped melody of his most popular song. Although loud and energetic, his own voice seems empty and vacant. There is no emotion beneath the words. The puppet onstage, pumping his fist into the sky emits a long stream of breath into the cold air. Merlin feels as though he is separated from himself entirely. They are separate people. The man on stage, and the man sitting where he is now. The spastic movements on stage are not ones his own body has ever made. And yet, the glowing banner behind him shows a promising young music sensation, leather jacket and artfully mussed black hair. The stadium is lit up with lights, flashing his name, and his alone, with unthinkable brightness.  
The puppet shakes his head back and forth to the drum beat. A marionette, made slave to his music. His own lyrics are drowned out by the crowd’s frenzied rendition. The puppet comes to the edge of the stage and he raises his arms to the crowd, a salute. Suddenly his words are cut off. The crowd does not seem to notice however, until the microphone clatters from his hand and onto the stage emitting a vibrating shriek. The camera shakes violently as the person behind it attempts to cover their ears. The puppet onstage makes no move to pick up the fallen mic but simply continues to address the crowd as if he has not noticed the sudden quiet. His lips ramble, unheard and the puppet’s hands remain outstretched. Even on the screen of the laptop he can see his own arms tremble. After a few drawn out seconds the puppets strings are cut and he tumbles to the stage floor. The camera jerks upwards to capture a flash of clear night sky and a wave of people surging forward towards the sage before the screen cuts to black.  
Nimueh slams the laptop closed and Merlin gingerly picks it up and places it on the desk. Although she had obviously seen it before, the bank expression on Merlin’s face makes her dig her hot pink nails into her fists with anger. The takes a breath. Merlin can see her vibrate as she releases it. She leans in, grips the arm rest with her painted claws. Her breath smells like cigarette smoke and mouthwash.  
“You overdosed Merlin. You fucking OD’ed on stage in front of twenty thousand people.” Her voice gets louder and louder. Behind her Merlin can see the dark clothed attendees retreating into another room.  
“What did you fucking take Merlin?” She pauses and suddenly, her voice is a concerned whisper “Merlin,” she pries her hand off the armrest and places it on his cheek. He almost recoils from its cold clamminess. His eyes flicker down to the indent left in the leather and then back up to hers where they spark and fizz inches from his face.  
“I know you have a drug problem, M. It’s not something that you're hiding as well as you think you are.” He tries to speak but she leans in even further. He averts his eyes.  
“You’re lucky Merlin. Lucky we were able to get you to the hospital so fast. We were able to get you out before sunrise this morning.” She points to the laptop on the desk.  
“That, Merlin, is not so lucky.” He braces himself but still jumps when she shrieks and swipes the computer off the desk. It falls to the floor and shatters.  
“Half a million views, Merlin. And it’s only been four hours. You just got out. Could you have kept it together for more than a month?” She would have continued if the phone had not started ringing.  
“Miss, um, sorry to interrupt,” Merlin is saved by a chubby, nervous looking intern. “It’s just that Arthur Penn is on the line.”  
Nimueh’s eyes widen slightly.  
“Well then were all fucked.” 

 

****

 

“Are you okay?” He sees red first. The backs of his eye lids. sudden stabs of light pulsate in and out for a few moments.  
“Are you okay?” Louder this time. He can feel a hand on his chest. Hesitant fingers nudge against his ribs as if she expects him to lash out and strike. He fights the urge to brush her hand away, The pressure releases and soft footsteps pad away. Seconds later, the red light darkens and the painful throbbing fades. He opens his eyes slowly and is greeted by a warm smile, hesitant, but warm.  
Gwen stands in her kitten heels and twists her hair around her finger. She bites her lip but knows better than to say a word. He doesn't say anything either. They have learned how to deal with one another. Pity-filled stares and gruff tolerance have been his world for the past two months.  
Arthur tries to sit up but the sound rings in his ears again and he takes a deep breath. He can feel his brain rattling. Gwen rushes forward with a mug. He can smell Coffee but wishes it were something stronger. He reaches out, arms heavier than they should be. He is used to the hangover but he can see the time glowing, luminescent on the bedside table. Gwen knows better than to wake him this early, unless…  
“Something happened didn’t it?” his own voice sounds like sandpaper and much less confident than he would like it to. Gwen shifts her weight from foot to foot, not speaking.  
“Gwen, tell me if something happened otherwise I’m going back to sleep.” He lets his head fall back against the pillow. The smell of vomit and sex ripple from the fabric in waves. A smell which no longer bothers him, although he still hears his father’s disapproving voice in his head. Gwen takes a breath. Arthur can practically hear the gears in her head churning.  
“Arthur I- I'm not really sure how to- um it’s just that, he called.” Her voice is so quiet that he has to lift his ear off the pillow in order to hear her properly. At the conclusion of her stuttered confession he pulls his body immediately and abruptly from sleep.  
“He wants to see me? Now?” He sits up in bed. Gwen backs up slightly, surprised by his sudden burst of energy. She nods slowly and Arthur leaps from the bed.  
Gwen blushes when a red lace bra tumbles free of the sheets and lands on the floor next to his own clothes, it had been shed, no doubt, the night before in a haze of intoxicated lust. She averts her eyes, blushing even brighter from Arthur’s naked form as he gets to his feet. Reaching forward instinctually to grab hold of his hands as he sways in a fit of dizziness. Arthur hisses like a snake at her touch and jerks away. She turns her gaze to the floor and shuffles back a few steps. He brings the coffee to his dry lips and downs it in one swig. He doesn't pause before hurdling around the room, pulling on various articles of clothing at random. When he stands, finally still, before Gwen in blue jeans and a button-down the clock on the bed side table reads 5:21. She attempts a smile and reaches forward to pluck a feather from the collar of his shirt. Arthur pulls back once more and pushes forcefully past her into the kitchen beyond. Stainless steel surfaces wink angrily at him from every direction. Hangover still in full force, he takes a moment to balance himself before noticing a sheet of paper on the otherwise pristine countertop. Not recognizing the handwriting as his own or Gwen’s he attributes it to the nameless blonde who had undoubtedly snuck out only a few minutes before he had awoken, the owner of the red bra, no doubt. Without reading it, Arthur takes the note in hand crumpling it and tossing it in the general direction of the trash bin.  
He shoves the empty coffee mug into an already overflowing sink and marches out the door, Gwen trailing behind him. As he descends the stairs a black car rounds the corner. He climbs in the back seat and shuffles to the far side to make room for Gwen. The driver does not waste time with greetings as he pulls efficiently out into the street.  
“Visiting hours don’t start for a while Arthur” Gwen attempts to reason with him. He glares at her for a moment before barking at the driver to hurry and pulling a pair of headphones from his pocket. Once they are firmly in place and Metallica is pounding his brain into submission his shoulders begin to relax and he allows his thoughts to wander beyond the car as it races along the empty freeway. The sun is coming up, visible out the back window.  
What would she have thought, Arthur mused. Always nagging always determined. If she could see Arthur’s life now what guidance would she offer. She would be ashamed no doubt. She would say that the company was falling behind, that Arthur himself was not up to the standard that she had set. A standard which, up until two months ago he believed in, he would have sworn by.  
“We deal in the business of truth Arthur,” Uther used to say, “Truth always finds the light,”  
lying bastard Arthur thinks to himself. The old man wouldn’t own up to the truth if his life depended on it.  
As the view outside the window shifts from cityscape to grey flat countryside the tightness in Arthurs shoulders returns tenfold. Gwen sits silently next to him. She is as much of a victim in this as he is. He wants to comfort her, to be the companion they both needed. Bad memories shrouded in anger and his fathers heavy, expensive cologne stop him at every attempt.  
After what feels like far too short a time, looming white signs and barbwire crested fences shadow the car, making Arthur feel as though he is being pressed down into the ground, voice silenced, lungs crushed.  
Black lettering on a block-like building commands his attention. STONE GUARD CRIMINAL BARRACKS. Criminal, he had never thought of it that way. Tears well in his eyes before he can stop them but he forces himself to stay composed. The fucker deserves whatever comes to him.  
The car pulls to a stop outside a set of double doors. Gwen gets out on her side first and pulls his door open for him. Taking a shaky breath Arthur rises from his seat and allows Gwen to lead him in through a metal door marked visitors entrance. A sleepy looking guard greets them just inside. Without pausing to look up, he points to a sign on a nearby wall detailing the visiting hours, which do not start until 1:00pm. The watch on his wrist reades 6:24am. Arthur steps right up to the window and peers though the smudged glass until the guard looks up at him. Arthur clenches his jaw and watches as recognition floods into the man’s face. Looking slightly more aware, he sputters and gasps for a few moments still pointing to the sign. Arthur sighs and pulls a hundred dollar bill from his pocket slamming it up against the glass and sending a vibrating echo around the room. The guard jumps up and rushes out of his office pulling a ring of keys from his belt as he does so. Arthur slips the bill under the glass for the guard to collect later. Once unlocked the guard turns from the door to usher Arthur and Gwen through.  
“R-right this way M-Mr Pendragon,” He says, voice filled with nasally hesitation. Arthur walks past smoothly not letting his fear show. He does his best to concentrate on the swish of his companions uniformed pants and the click-clack of Gwen’s heals on the cold linoleum. They are lead through a maze of identical passageways lined by metal doorways, identical except for the thick black line of ink marking the separate cell blocks. They pass block after block, delving deeper and deeper into the recesses of the prison. Arthur can't hear the inmates talking in their respective cells or banging on the bars that separate them from freedom, but he can picture the ghosts of people shut away, identities stolen, lives suspended and nothing left to comfort them but their thoughts. Arthur is haunted by the image of his father leering out from behind prison bars, no amount of money and prestige would keep him safe here.  
Click-clack, swish-swish. He deserves it, Arthur tells himself  
He collects his thoughts, forces his eyes to go blank, his mouth to press into a thin line. his eyes flick up to meet Gwen’s. Her silent question Are you ok? makes him feel sick. Just as his hands begin to shake with pent up emotion the guard stops dead in his tracks, swishing steps silenced. He pulls another key from his pocket and within seconds the door is open. It takes Arthur a moment to put the pieces together. The word infirmary scrawled in black above the door and the rows of hospital beds shrouded in white. Each bed has a pair of handcuffs hanging from the stainless steel rails. He swallows and his bile tastes like coffee.  
Arthur’s eyes zero in on the man at the end of the long row of beds. All the anger and resentment he felt toward his father seem cruel and unnecessary when he sees him.  
“Dad,” he chokes out. His body moves without his permission. His feet stumble forward and Arthur can do nothing but watch his father’s desperately small form grow closer. He is dimly aware of Gwen behind him as she draws in a surprised gasp. His father opens his bloodshot eyes and looks his son up and down before opening his mouth to speak. Instead a blood curdling cough wrenches its was up Uther’s fragile body. Arthur springs into action. Before he knows what’s happened he is kneeling by his father’s bedside, fistful of napkins in hand, trying to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of Uther’s mouth. He puts his hand on his father’s stubbly face for a moment before his eyes dart up to Uther’s. He draws his hand away when he recognizes the look of shame in his eyes.  
“What’s happening to you? You look...” Arthur whispers, hardly recognizing his own voice.  
“Always so tactful,” Uther wheezes before Arthur can finish. Arthur can see him fight to hold on to the dignity he always wore around him like a coat. His father raises a hand to his face. Arthur tries to ignore its shaking.  
“They found a tumor my second week here,” Arthur feels his eyes well with tears and his hand folds over his father’s where it rests against his face. It has been 8 weeks since he had last seen his father.  
“I didn't want you to-” Uther’s body was crushed by a wave of coughing. Arthur let a few sobs loose from his tight chest keenly aware of Gwen’s hand on his shoulder. He wants to shake it off but he wants to spare his father the pain of seeing childhood friends torn asunder.  
“Why?” Arthur whispers, “Why did you keep it from me for so long.” Arthur’s voice grows louder, more anger seeps in. . He feels Gwen’s hand tighten into a vise. “I’d have—I would have come sooner. We can still get a doctor,” He tries to turn his head to tell Gwen to phone all the best cancer specialists in London, to contact the warden, surly something can be done, a payment made into the right account but his father’s suddenly firm voice stops him.  
“No Arthur,” He hangs on every word. “There’s no time. I asked you to come because I have something to tell you. I don't have much time left. I—I can feel it.” Arthur wants to stop him, to tell I'm that he is wrong, not to lose hope, there is still time, there has to be, but Uther presses on.  
“He was going to kill you. I did what I did because Agravaine said he was going to kill you and all the others. Arthur I Swear. That's why I lied. That's why I wouldn't publish Morgana’s piece” Arthur wants to scream. Questions race though his mind at lightning speed. No response seems adequate for the news his father has delivered.  
“Oh god,” is all Arthur can manage.  
Arthur feels the memory envelop him. Hot breath on his face, back pressed uncomfortably against the stone wall, whispered threats, instructions, commands. He told Arthur he knew secrets about the PennDragon that would lose them the company. Uther’s company, one that he built from nothing.  
“He said he would kill me?” Arthur asks waiting for it to sink in. Uther nods feebly, gratitude making his eyes shine.  
“What do I do?” Arthur asks, hoping his father will tell something, anything to cling too.  
“Publish truth,” Uther says instead. “Real truth, not those lies we used to print. Lies are what got us into this mess. Find out what he has. Fix this” Arthur nods and Uther starts wheezing and coughing again. Arthur hovers above him, not sure what to do.  
Behind him he hears Gwen’s phone ring. She tries to hand it to him. He shakes her off, not caring if Uther sees.  
“What do you need?” He's frantic now. His father’s convulsing body makes his heart ache in his chest. He feels like he's going to pass out. His father meets his eyes and the world seems to fade around him.  
“Go,” Uther whispers. Arthur does. He grabs the phone out of Gwen’s hand and turns to face the door. A team of nurses in pink smocks burst though and hurry past him chattering to each other about cardiovascular fluctuations. Arthur is too dumbstruck to understand what they mean. Gwen leads him through the doors and the guard bounces to attention. Arthur notices the phone in his hand for the first time and holds it to his hear as they continue the long march down the prison corridor.  
“Hello, hellooo,” The voice on the other end seems fake. It takes Arthur a moment to process.  
“Gwaine,” Arthur says finally, attempting to sound formal and business like.  
“Oh thank fuck mate” Gwaine’s usual foulmouthed greeting shakes Arthur from his state of shock.  
“What do you need Gwaine, you surviving without me?” Arthur attempts to joke but his jibe falls flat.  
Gwain doesn't pause for a moment “That kid Emrys, he's gone and fucked up bad Arthur. There have been drug rumors for a while but they've just been confirmed. God you have to see this video,” He sounds almost giddy. “ We've got a story Arthur, the best goddamn story in years, if you ask me,”  
Arthur remembers his father’s voice in his head. Publish truth.  
“We’ll pursue the Emrys story.” He waits for Gwaine’s whoop of excitement before continuing.  
“And Gwaine, I’m going to take point on this one. I’m coming back ” Gwaine laughs his assent into the phone and Arthur hangs up with a flick of his wrist.  
Arthur hangs up the phone before Gwaine can curse again. He holds up the phone for Gwen to take and she plucks it from his hand. Without looking at her he hears the familiar intake of breath. She’s about to give her concerned-mother-hen rant. He speeds up tracing his steps through the maze of the prison as she shadows him, spluttering. He lets her soft voice wash over him, not hearing a word that she says and instead focusing on the name that Gawain had given him over the phone, the so called ‘best goddamned story in years.’  
Emrys.  
That was the name Gawain had given him, voice high pitched and exited as if he had said Bieber or Watergate. His brain is clouded and his feet feel heavy as he walks. Arthur tries to filter out the insanity of the past few hours and dig through his rusty pop culture references. He knows that name. The voice of Gwen behind him, combined with the bustle of the prison now beginning to wake around him forces him to focus on the moment at hand.  
He stops suddenly in the middle of a fluorescently lit hallway. Gwen nearly walks into his back. She stops speaking and Arthur hears her catch her breath. He reaches behind him and snaches her blazer clad arm. She lets out a small gasp and Arthur tries to ignore the guilt that bubbles in his stomach as she glares at him with the ghost of her childhood ferocity. Their eye contact was broken when a line of inmates crossed in front of them, spitting jeers at Gwen as they go by.  
“Hey baby girl, want to come suck me off?”  
“Pussy, pussy, pussy,”  
Gwen never looks up but she steps closer to Arthur, who grips her arm tighter. A tired looking prison guard taps menacingly at his hip with a nightstick. The group of men move aside and Arthur wrenches Gwen forward, the visitors entrance in sight. As he pushes her in front and through the door he hears her whisper a low “Thank you.” he doesn't respond.  
On the journey back to London neither of them speaks. Gwen must have realized she wasn't getting through to him. When Arthur glaces in her direction he feels another stab of guilt at the sight of her pale face, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes focused forward, wide and unblinking. He does not reach out as he once might have but turns his gaze out to the rain soaked suburban sprawl. His mind is racing. Thoughts are born and die in the spaces between Arthur’s heartbeats. Why would his father call him in the early hours of the morning to repeat what he had been telling Arthur all his life? Why now? Why had he not called him sooner before things had gone so badly? What would she have said… he stops that thought before it can go further. Morgana is gone. There's no use wondering.  
He mutters gruffly to the driver to drop him off at his office in London’s business district, meaning for Gwen to take the car back to her flat, get some sleep, shower off the scent of the prison but it seems she is filled with the same restlessness that clouds his head because when the car stops outside the gleaming high rise she follows.  
The hulking men at the front desk glance up in time for Arthur to put up a dismissive hand just as he had upon entering for years.  
He and Gwen had the elevator to themselves and maintained their fragile, uneasy silence but as the door dinged open on the 71st floor, the onslaught of noise made them both flinch.  
Underneath everything is the steady unrelenting clacking of keyboards. Like a heavy rainfall but with an urgency that never fades, never pauses. Voices hum above the sound of the keyboards, calling out orders, throwing insults, weaving in and out of cubicles and carrying through the colossal space with the same metallic urgency as the typing. Arthur knows to listen for more, beneath the easily apparent. The low sound of the printers in the back corners, the sound of the ancient coffee maker clogging its way to a fresh batch of toxic sludge, the ticking of the analog clock above the elevator. He feels a weight seep out his body and his mind clears more every moment, just standing still amid the buzz. Home.  
Without warning Arthur is nearly bowled over by a tall long haired figure in a striking blue suit. Gwaine Camm is Arthur's second in command at PennDragon Publishing. He attempts to strangle Arthur in an alarmingly tight hug as Arthur flails his arms and grunts uselessly. Gwaine pulls away and Arthur meets his eyes for the first time since his father’s arrest.  
It was Gwaine who came forward to run point at the company in the wake of recent events and Arthur can see the strain on his face even as Gwaine flashes his biggest grin at him. There are large dark circles under his eyes and Arthur knows the worry lines on his forehead probably mirror his own. He opens his mouth to apologize for taking so long to return. He wants to say that it has been his responsibility to pick up the pieces, not Gwaine's. The other man must anticipate his words because Gwaine interrupts him before he can begin.  
“I’ve got something bigger than we’ve had in ages Penn, you have no fucking idea” Gwaine’s tendency to swear every second word is something that he must have developed at a young age. He remembers the long drawn out argument he’d had with Uther over Gwains application at The Dragon. Gwaine had cursed like a sailor in his interview but his impression on Arthur could not have been more favorable. He was glad he’d won that one, that was for sure.  
“Ok Gwaine, I’m listening” Arthur nods and Gwaine motions for Arthur to follow, already beginning to frame the story.  
“You know that indie bloke Merlin Emrys, he's got fucking pipes like Celine Dion and a drug problem to rival Amy Winehouse?” Arthur nods even though he has no idea who or what Gwaine is referencing.  
“Well he had a show last night at O2 and...well you have to see it Arthur I can’t even begin to explain this shit.”  
“You mean he said something? Didn’t show? Racial Slur? What?” as much as Arthur loves Gwaine, he is tired of his vagueness. Gwaine gestures to Arthur’s office, which during his time away Gwaine must have moved into. The gargantuan computer monitor on his desk is buffering a video. Arthur glances at the view count in the lower left hand corner and is taken aback at the number. Half a million views. The horrible Quality forces Arthur to squint and lean in in order to see the face of the man on stage.  
Arthur can make out long limbs and a mop of dark hair. The man on stage is hunched over the microphone and swaying dangerously back and forth as he sings the melody to a song Arthur doesn’t recognise. The camera work picks up the screams of the crowd as they chant the words but the man on stage does very little in the way of acknowledging them. His voice sounds distant and robotic and Arthur takes a mental note to ask production staff as O2 if Emrys does his concerts dubbed. His question is immediately answered when Emrys body straightens as though shocked. He wrenches the microphone down away from his mouth silencing his stiff lyrical performance all together. Arthur leans in still closer to see the microphone fall out of the performers hand to land on the stage with dephaning feedback. Emry’s arms reach out as if calling for help and Arthur sees his mouth moving to form words, his plea lost in the thundering of the audience. A collective gasp is audible when Emrys slouches without warning to the floor of the stage. The video ends in a flurry of motion.  
Arthur’s head is swirling with questions for the thousandth time that morning.  
“So, Overdose?” he says to the room.  
“Fucking bad one too,” answers Gwaine. “The thing is though,” he says, poking Arthur in the bicep to punctuate every word. “He. Just. Got. Out. Of. Rehab” Arthur shrugs. So far Gwaine’s best-story-of-the-year story seemed like Daily Mirror gossip.  
“Guess what center he went to, Penn.” Gwaine asked now gripping his arm in a vice like grip. “The one that’s Fucking funded by Agravaine Pharmaceuticals” the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stands up. Gwaine isn't done. “And now this shit happens! He was high as fuck up there but that kind of behavior isn't something crack addled celebrities do on stage. You can see how much attention this is getting Arthur, this could be it.”  
Arthur’s mind is racing. A young celebrity could be exactly what the company needs to refocus after his father's debacle, after Morgana…  
To take down Agra Pharmaceuticals Arthur will need to find out the truth of this whole mess, from the beginning, starting with this Emrys fellow. Is this what his father had meant? Find the Truth. How could Uther have known?  
“Gwaine who is this kid’s Manager? I need to start pursuing this now” Gwaine points aggressively to a number penned messibly on an envelope. Arthur reaches up just as Gwen is handing him his mobile. He dials the number and waits for one ring, two... it’s picked up with a stiff and nasally “Hello, yes?”  
Arthur takes a breath to collect his thoughts before speaking. Straightening up and wishing for the first time that he had put on suit that morning. He speaks into the phone as confidently as he can.  
“Good Morning, this is Arthur Penn Speaking. Whom am I addressing?”  
“Nimueh Fey of Fay Management. Representing Merlin Emrys. I assume that's who you're calling about Mr Penn,” Her voice is dismissive and more that a little patronising  
“It is, yes. Thank you. I would like to speak to Mr Emrys to get his side of last nights ev-”  
“He’s not speaking to press right now Mr Penn. I’m sure you understand.” Arthur can hear a shuffle on the other end of the line and Fey’s huff into the phone tells him that she is trying to push someone away.  
“I just want to know what he has to say, I would be interested in hearing it from him rather than less favorable accounts” He forces his voice into a slow clear tone, hoping to sound calming.  
There's another shuffle on the other end of the line. Arthur distantly hears Fey’s voice. “You will not talk to press right now, you’re fucking done” another voice answers her, further away bus still audible. “He said he wanted to hear my side Nim” This must be Emrys. “This is fucking Penn, Merlin, he will drag you in the mud so far you'll never be able to find your way back.” Arthur fights the urge to snort into the phone. “As opposed to what Nim?” Arthur can hear Emry’s voice crack and the broken quality of it makes Arthur turn away from the rest of the room closing his eyes. There's another shuffle on the line. Before Arthur can open his mouth to speak a low intense voice whispers hastily over the phone. “I want to talk to you. Meet me at the Unicorn Pub in Soho at noon today.” The line goes dead before Arthur can respond. He lowers it slowly from his ear, turning to face Gwaine and Gwen where they are standing by the monitor. Emry’s face looks out at him from the screen, pixelated and twisted in pain.

 

Find the truth Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated? I love praise and construction. Tell me what you think.


End file.
